The Breezecloud Sect Library was always quiet at dawn. Mist pooled around the tiled roofs, drifting through the courtyard like pale spirits. Few disciples rose early, and fewer still cared for books. But Lin Xuan stood beneath the wooden beams every morning, his fingertips brushing the worn covers of ancient scrolls, drawing in their scent like a starving man inhaling food.
His robes were still simple, the fabric rough, and his cultivation level was nothing remarkable to the outer disciples. But he moved with a steadiness that didn't belong to someone of his age. Every breath he took was deliberate. Every gaze held a weight of memory far older than eighteen years.
Inside him lived a life lost. A family lost. A sister's face that existed only in fading echoes.
He exhaled slowly, setting down the scroll he had been copying. His hand cramped slightly, but he didn't rest. He had lived through war once—paper cuts and sore wrists were nothing.
The library was arranged like a labyrinth. Pillars carved with cloud patterns, windows that let in thin sunlight, rows of shelves filled with teachings from countless cultivators of the past. Some scrolls were sealed, inaccessible to disciples below the Yuan Realm.
He was now in the Yuan Realm Late Stage—the limit of the first realm. The cusp, but not yet the leap.
The second realm—Vein Opening Realm—was the threshold where the body reshaped itself. Where strength ceased being just strength, and began to touch something deeper—the flow of qi paths within.
He was close. He could feel it in his bones.
But something was missing.
His foundation was solid. His comprehension deep. His will unwavering.
Yet his fate, the thing that moves cultivators upward or tears them down, was dormant.
And fate—fate was never free.
---
The Rumor
Three days ago, he overheard older disciples whispering in the training courtyard:
> "Something beneath the library… an older structure sealed before the sect's founding."
> "Nonsense. The elders would know."
> "I swear by my cultivation, Senior Qin said the floor in the back hall used to have a stairway that led down."
> "And where is it now?"
> "Buried. Hidden. Or sealed."
Lin Xuan hadn't reacted at the time. But the words stuck. He knew too well that power lived in forgotten places—buried beneath dust, time, or corpses.
And today, he was ready to look.
---
The Back Corner
The back of the library was dim. Sunlight could not reach between the stacked shelves and collapsed storage crates. The smell changed—from paper to cold stone. The silence here was heavier.
He moved aside a fallen cabinet, pushing with slow, careful force.
Dust scattered. Wood groaned. And there—
A faint outline of a square stone tile. Every other tile was wooden flooring. But this one… this was old. Ancient. The engraving of a single stretched cloud, faded nearly to nothing.
His heart pulsed.
He knelt. Pressed his palm to the stone.
Nothing.
Then everything.
A vibration crawled up his arm—soft, whispering. Not noise. Not sound. Memory.
A whisper like a voice underwater:
> "Return…"
His breath caught—but he didn't recoil.
Instead, he pressed harder.
Click.
The tile shifted.
A seam opened.
And a cold draft rose from below.
A hidden stair.
---
The Descent
Cobwebs clung to his robes as he stepped down. The air felt untouched by time—cold, dry, like a tomb. The staircase wound deep beneath the library, walls marked with carvings of clouds swirling into mountains.
He recognized the style.
This was not the Breezecloud Sect's work.
This was from an era he remembered distantly—the Ancient Era of Meridian Shapes, when cultivation was closer to the world, rather than fighting against it.
As he descended, the carvings shifted—from clouds and mountains to humans kneeling before the sky. Their bodies surrounded by glowing rings. Cores of light rotating around their hearts.
He inhaled sharply.
This was… an ancient visualization method for the Second Realm.
Not just any method—
A natural breakthrough method.
The kind no sect would teach.
The kind they would kill to bury.
Because a disciple who broke through naturally—without pills, without guidance—would owe the sect nothing.
A free cultivator.
And free cultivators were dangerous.
---
The Chamber
The stairs opened into a circular stone room. In the center sat a platform of pale jade, cracked but still shining faintly.
A single skeleton sat cross-legged upon it.
White robes long decayed.
Legs folded.
Hands resting atop one another.
The bones had not turned to dust.
They still held qi—faint, but real.
A master of unimaginable depth.
Lin Xuan bowed deeply.
Not to worship.
But to acknowledge.
Cultivators did not leave graves.
They left legacies.
The jade platform glowed as he approached, reacting—not to his strength, but his state of mind. His unbroken resolve. His endless yearning.
And the sorrow that never healed.
His steps slowed. His breath quivered.
How long had he lived without their faces?
How long had he forced himself to remember?
To keep the stories alive inside his mind so they wouldn't fade?
His sister's laughter.
The small boy's timid gaze.
The day their home fell.
The blood.
The flames.
His helpless scream.
He had clawed his way through life, rebirth, and cultivation—but he still didn't know:
Were they alive?
Or had he been holding onto ghosts?
His chest tightened.
He stood before the jade platform.
The carvings around the room began to glow—clouds forming rivers of light, spiraling into the center.
The techniques etched onto the walls unfolded in his mind:
"To open the veins, one must face the truth inside."
Not truth of the world.
Not truth of power.
But the truth one refuses to see.
His vision blurred.
His hands trembled.
He sat.
Cross-legged.
Facing the platform.
Facing himself.
---
The Vision
His consciousness sank into stillness.
The chamber faded.
And he stood again in the burning courtyard of his old life—flames devouring the walls, smoke filling the sky. His sister stood across the courtyard, reaching for him—
Her voice rippling like water.
> "Gege—!"
He ran—
But the boy stepped in front of her, shielding her with his small body. His eyes trembling but firm.
Then—
The world shattered.
He gasped, chest heaving.
His heart burned.
His veins trembled.
Qi surged—like a river breaking a dam.
The first qi pathway opened.
Then the second.
Third.
Fourth.
The pain was sharp—like thorns tearing through him—but he didn't scream.
He welcomed it.
Because he remembered.
They were alive.
He didn't know how he knew.
But he knew.
The vision wasn't memory.
It wasn't illusion.
It was connection.
A thread still tied between them.
They lived.
Somewhere.
The light in the chamber flared—
The jade platform cracked—
And his veins blazed like constellations.
---
Breakthrough
His body shivered as the final gate opened.
Vein Opening Realm — First Vein Unlocked.
Power surged through him—not explosive, not wild.
But calm.
Clear.
Steady.
Like mountains under sky.
He exhaled—
And for the first time in eighteen years—
His heart did not feel empty.
His path forward existed.
His purpose sharpened.
His sister lived.
The boy lived.
And he would find them.
Not with desperation.
But with certainty.
---
The Chamber's Last Gift
As the platform sank into silence, something rolled from the skeleton's hand—
A jade pendant.
Carved with two characters:
云心
(Heart of the Clouds)
Lin Xuan picked it up gently.
A cultivation inheritance?
A sect token?
Or… a key?
He didn't know.
But he would learn.
He rose.
The chamber felt brighter now. Warmer. Not a tomb.
A beginning.
He bowed once more to the fallen master—
Not as a disciple.
But as someone who understood the weight of carrying a dream alone.
Then he turned.
And climbed the stairs.
---